


Spilled Champagne

by sam_kom_trashkru



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clexa, F/F, Fine Stud Lexa, Lincoln shows up for a hot two seconds, Wells is a puppy honestly he's so good and so pure I miss him, and clarke is def a slytherin @ maryne fight me, babygirl clarke, clarke raven and octavia are harry potter nerds, everyone's least favorite fuckboy finn, honestly i hate finn so much, they're all super rich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 23:44:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6304849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sam_kom_trashkru/pseuds/sam_kom_trashkru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn was standing, gaping, covered in champagne. Lexa looked much too pleased with herself.</p><p>Clarke wasn't turned on (she definitely was)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spilled Champagne

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of my own tumblr post that can be found [here](http://hedaclexa.tumblr.com/post/141272361195/fine-stud-lexa). Basically all of this fandom is made up of sinners.

Clarke has always hated her wealth.

Granted, she grew up using that wealth to the fullest advantage, using her bright blue puppy-dog eyes and trembling lower lip to get most anything she wanted. Her father could never say no to her, his Princess, when she looked at him like that. But as Clarke had grown, she’d become more and more aware about the inherent unfairness of her privilege. Her parents had worked hard to build their fortune, but before that, the Griffins and the Mathesons were from old money, so even they had possessed a head start on account of their last names.

Clarke Griffin, from the moment she entered the world, was leaps and bounds ahead of her peers just because of her family. And it took her much too long to realize how wrong that was. College was truly an eye-opening experience for her. Abby had wanted her daughter to follow her into the medical field, but Clarke’s true passion rested in her art. Her blood ran in every color pallette imaginable, skin stained with bright colors and every article of clothing splotched with paint. Clarke felt most at home with a paintbrush or piece of charcoal in her hand, she lived and breathed _art._ So Clarke had gone off to college to study art, reluctantly allowing her mother to pay for her, but she couldn’t help but feel guilty. She hadn’t earned her way in, not like the others.

Octavia thought she was insane. So did Raven, for that matter, and everyone else Clarke had befriended during college. She cared about Octavia and Raven’s opinions the most, though, as the three of them had quickly become inseparable, and the three of them now lived together in a spacious apartment (Clarke covered most of the cost, but Octavia and Raven insisted they contribute to the rent as well, and Clarke let them). They all thought that she was crazy to have so many resources at her disposal but refuse to use them.

Clarke was thankful for her money, make no mistake. She was appreciative of the legacy her ancestors had built, the hard earned money they had earned, but she felt bad for using their money without making her own contribution. After her father passed away, she felt even worse, especially with her trust fund filled with money her father had willed to her, the father that was now gone, the father she would never be able to see again. Jake Griffin had been a kind man, gentle and patient, eager to encourage Clarke in her endeavors to become a professional artist, always supporting her in every decision she made. Clarke missed him terribly.

Now that he was gone, there was no buffer between Clarke and her mother, Abby.

Abby Griffin was a total socialite. She was Chief Surgeon of the prestigious Ark Hospital, and absolutely adored everything about the social scene of the wealthiest people in Washington DC. There wasn’t a weekend that went by that Abby wasn’t attending some ball or gala or charity event, using every excuse to get dressed up and display her extreme wealth. She was an excellent doctor, but the word ‘humility’ was entirely lost to her.

Unfortunately for Clarke, Abby expected her daughter to attend most of these events with her. At Clarke’s protests, Abby would just guilt her daughter into coming, talking about how it would be such a scandal if the sole heiress to the Griffin-Matheson fortune didn’t show up to charity events and balls. Clarke, of course, didn’t give two shits about what all the stuck-up rich assholes thought about her, but she didn’t want to cause her mother any more scrutiny, because Abby _did_ care what people thought of her.

Clarke’s saving grace at the events she was unable to escape with the excuse of schoolwork was the presence of her childhood friend Wells Jaha.

His father was the CEO of a virtual reality company called City of Light, and had quickly made his fortune by innovating leaps and bounds in technology, the mountain-shaker of the industry. Wells and Clarke had grown up together, Jake being the CEO of Exodus Inc., an engineering company who had the brains and skills to make Thelonius Jaha’s vision a reality. The two men had quickly become business partners and then friends, so it was only natural for them to let Clarke and Wells play with one another. This had led to many weeks of the two escaping tutors and nannies together, playing pranks on the butlers and maids (who looked at them with something akin to exasperated fondness).

The two of them had a routine when they were roped into attending balls together. They’d socialize politely for the first half hour or so, making small talk and complimenting everyone who came up to them. Rich people _loved_ to hear others talk about how great they were. When snotty spoiled rich boys approached Clarke as though they expected her to be honored they chose to pursue her, Wells would pretend to be her boyfriend, wrapping his arm around her waist casually and steering her away politely. The Jahas were regarded with apprehension by the usual socialites, as they weren’t from old money, fresh and new and unknown. That, and they didn’t fit the obvious demographic of the majority of the people who attended balls and galas, dark skin and richly colored suits contrasting with pale skin and pressed black suits.

After making the rounds, the two of them got drunk off of too-expensive champagne, wine, and whiskey. That was the part of the evening Clarke looked forward to the most.

It was a Saturday night, and Clarke would rather be anywhere but here. In fact, there was a warm cup of cocoa waiting for her at the apartment, and she knew Raven and Octavia were planning on marathoning the Harry Potter movies. She’d much rather be there, in her Slytherin sweatpants, light grey Platform 9 & ¾ sweatshirt, lounging on a couch and drinking every time Draco Malfoy mentioned his father, than dressed up in some ridiculously expensive dark blue dress her mother had set aside for her, and heels that she could already _feel_ destroying her feet.

As per usual, she showed up alongside her mother with nothing but herself, the plain rubber band she kept on her right wrist, and a ballpoint pen tucked in her bra in a way that it was situated without being obvious. Abby usually tried to get her to bring some clutch or bag, but Clarke brushed off her attempts by saying she’d probably lose it somewhere, and then that was money wasted.

As Clarke’s left hand busied itself spinning the rubber band around her right wrist, her light blue eyes scanned the crowd of people looking almost desperately for her best friend. Abby had promised he’d be there, but sometimes she lied just to get Clarke to come. A breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding escaped her lungs when she saw him approaching her, a wide smile on his face. He was dressed smartly in a three-piece suit, the royal purple standing out amongst the other monochromatic attendees.

“Clarke!” he greeted cheerfully, scooping her into a warm, safe hug in greeting, the smaller girl melting comfortably into his embrace, shooting him a genuine smile. “Glad you could make it.”

“Glad you don’t have to deal with this on your own,” she teased, and he raised his hands in mock surrender.

“You caught me there, Princess.” She rolled her eyes at him and elbowed his stomach fondly at the nickname, shooting her mother an apologetic look when the older woman cleared her throat and shook her head slightly.

“Abby, always a pleasure,” Wells continued, shaking Clarke’s mother’s hand firmly, and the woman smiled brightly at him.

“Flatterer,” Abby tsked, eyes bright, “I’ll leave you two to it, I can see Marcus, excuse me.” Clarke nodded and watched her mother leave the two of them to join Marcus Kane, DC’s mayor, whom she’d been dating for the past couple months.

“I think she’s still trying to set us up,” Clarke said, turning to Wells once her mother was out of earshot. Ever since the two of them were old enough to start dating, Abby had tried to push her daughter in his direction, because _Clarke, he’s a nice respectable young man who I approve of, nothing would make me happier than the two of you settling down together_. The two of them, however, were too close to even consider being romantically involved. Wells was like the older brother she never had, it would be too weird. The dark skinned young man chuckled softly, shaking his head fondly in Abby’s general direction.

“I don’t think she’s ever going to give up on the idea,” he said as he and Clarke started walking, “even when you’re married to some equally impressive man or woman or someone in-between, she’ll still probably regretfully reminisce about when you were single and could have started dating me.”

“Full of yourself, much?” Clarke shot back.

“Of course, I’m the best, I’m allowed to be full of myself,” Wells joked, and Clarke resisted the urge to clip his head fondly as he led her onto the dance floor, “now, let’s show these folks how things are done.” Dancing with Wells was familiar, almost fun if Clarke let herself forget about everyone standing around, judging her every move. He was an excellent dance partner, and Clarke could lose herself in the dancing and retreat into her mind, as their motions were fluid and well-practiced, the byproduct of attending ballroom dancing lessons together since the tender age of seven.

Clarke allowed her blue eyes to wander through the crowd as she moved in tandem with the smooth melody the orchestra produced. She could pick out many of the regular attendees, including her mother’s ‘friends’ and the parents of ‘respectable young suitors’ that Clarke should ‘seriously consider dating’. Among her least favorite were Vincent and Patricia Collins, well-known lawyers who came from family money. Their son, Finn, was the very bane of Clarke’s existence, constantly trying to get her away from parties and convince her to date him.

She’d had the unfortunate experience of having to attend college with him, the boy following her to college parties and trying to weasel his way into their friend group. Luckily, the others thought he was just as much of an asshole as Clarke did, especially after Raven angrily exclaimed that he’d fooled around with her, and then dumped her once he found a prettier girl to pursue (which was ridiculous, Raven was a _goddess_ ).

She shook her head slightly, trying to rid the thoughts of Finn Collins from her brain. He wasn’t worth the thought. Eyes once more began to wander, the hand situated softly on Wells’s shoulder itching to tug at the rubber band on the other one. Her breath hitched in her throat as she made eye contact with a newcomer who’d arrived fashionably late.

The brunette was sculpted, as it appeared, by the gods themselves, taught muscles visible under a well-tailored three piece suit. As though the brunette sensed Clarke’s staring, intense green eyes snapped up to meet blue ones, and Clarke quickly looked away, feeling a slight blush color her cheeks. Inwardly, she reprimanded herself, she couldn’t let herself become enamored with anyone in this crowd, rich kids were all the same.

“Who’s she?” Clarke whispered to Wells as he expertly continued leading her around the dance floor. The green eyed girl was now talking to Marcus, accompanied by a well-built, dark skinned man. Wells, noticing the path of Clarke’s eyes, smirked.

“Interested, Princess?”

“Hardly,” Clarke bit back, rolling her eyes, “it’s just I’ve never seen her at one of these, that’s all.”

“That’s Lexa Woods,” he explained quietly, “and the man behind her is her cousin, Lincoln.” The name seemed familiar, and Clarke’s eyes widened fractionally in understanding. Lexa Woods was the talk of the town at this point, the youngest CEO in a long time at only twenty-five, taking over for her father Titus as the head of Trikru Inc. She also had quite the reputation as a womanizer, which was quite scandalous amongst Abby’s friends, and Clarke had heard _all_ about her charm, and had been properly warned away from her. There was something about the intensity of her eyes, though, that had Clarke yearning to know her, causing warmth to pool rather uncomfortably in her stomach.

Clarke murmured in understanding, and Wells smoothly led her off of the dance floor.

“I think it’s time for some refreshments,” he joked, “to quench your uncontrollable thirst.”

“If we weren’t surrounded by people who look like they’d have heart attacks if someone threw a punch,” Clarke muttered darkly, “I’d tackle you and beat you into submission.” Wells scoffed, thanking a server for a champagne flute.

“You? Beat _me_ into submission? Not likely.”

“I know all of your ticklish spots,” Clarke muttered darkly, “I’m sure I could find away.” Wells chuckled, and Clarke found comfort in the deep rumble, taking a long drink from her own champagne flute, smiling and rambling about how beautiful Diana Sydney's dress was when the older woman approached the pair, fake smile making Clarke nauseous.

“I’m too sober for this,” she complained under her breath, and Wells nodded somberly.

“Amen to that, sister.”

The night was actually going fairly well. About three drinks in, Clarke had fished the pen out of her bra, and now had half a dozen napkin drawings completed, more like unflattering cartoons, as she expressed her dislike for the majority of the people here. Diana Sydney made an appearance as a witch on one, cackling evilly over a cauldron filled with body parts. Finn Collins on another dancing with a mirror, because he was so in love with himself. Others found their ways onto the remaining napkins, Cage Wallace with a nose as long as Pinocchio's because he was _always lying_ , his friend Carl Emerson on others with a pig snout and tail, Margaret Steward with a craning vulture neck and wings, the list went on.

“Clarke!” She turned and smiled, more than a little tipsy at this point, as Thelonious made his way over to her and wells, donning a navy blue suit, his personal assistance, Allie, trailing behind him like a lost puppy, wearing a red dress.

“Theo!” she greeted, hugging him briefly, the man was like an uncle to her, ignoring Allie’s small noise of disapproval as she crinkled his suit ever so slightly.

“It’s good to see you,” he said brightly, “I hope you don’t mind, but I have to steal Wells for a moment, Senator Wallace wants to talk to him.”

“No problem,” Clarke waved them off, but inwardly she was panicking, and her left hand drifted subconsciously to cover her right wrist, tugging on the rubber band. Wells shot her an apologetic glance, and Clarke shook her head, motioning him to go with his father. She could handle a few moments alone.

She couldn’t.

As soon as Wells was out of her line of sight, swallowed up by the crowd of people, she saw a familiar head of floppy brown hair making his way towards her.

 _Well_ , she thought dryly, _at least he doesn’t waste any time._ Quickly collecting the napkins and depositing them in her bra, along with the pen, Clarke began weaving her way through people in an attempt to lose him in the crowd. She wasn’t so lucky.

“Clarke!” She groaned inwardly as a hand closed on her shoulder, pulling her around to reveal a smug grinning face. “You weren’t trying to get rid of me, were you?”

“Actually, I was,” she ground out, crossing her arms sullenly over her chest, “I’ve told you a million times, leave me alone, Collins.” She made to move away from him, but his grip on her shoulder strengthened, his eyes narrowing.

“That’s not how you treat a gentleman,” he sneered, backing Clarke up against a wall, and she could feel the panic slowly building in her throat.

“I don’t see a gentleman anywhere around here, have you seen one?” Her words were a lot braver than she felt, and she could feel the panic bubbling in the pit of her stomach as Finn’s nails dug into the exposed skin of her shoulder slightly.

“Why you little―” whatever he was going to say was cut off as he was wrenched away from Clarke by the collar of his shirt, Clarke slumping in relief as soon as he was off of her, not looking to see who her knight in shining armor was for a few moments, before her blue eyes looked up tentatively to see absolutely _furious_ green ones.

“I think you’ve overstayed your welcome, Collins.” If Clarke had thought Lexa’s eyes looked intense before, she didn’t know how to quite describe them at this point. Like green flames from the deepest pits of hell. Clarke was terrified, and they weren’t even directed at her. Those eyes made her feel a lot of things. A lot of things that were _entirely_ inappropriate for such a formal event.

“I don’t remember asking for your opinion, Woods,” he sneered.

“And she obviously didn’t ask for your company,” Lexa ground out shortly, before elegantly dumping an entire flute of champagne over his head, “and now you’re a mess. I think you should leave before you embarrass yourself any more than you already have.” He was absolutely fuming at this point, and Clarke was in awe, mouth slightly agape as Finn stormed away, relief flooding through her until she realized that she was alone with Lexa.

The butterflies picked up again, but they were a different kind this time around.

Green eyes once more met blue, and they softened so quickly, and Clarke felt herself melt.

“Are you alright?” she sounded so genuinely _concerned_ and oh my _god_ Clarke was so flustered at this point, blue eyes trying to look anywhere _but_ Lexa’s eyes (which was a mistake because dear _lord_ her _body_ ). And then the alcohol started talking.

“Thanks to you,” Clarke said, surprising herself with how deep her voice got. _Huh. That’s new._ “How can I repay my knight in shining armor.” She heard Lexa gulp. GULP. Honest-to-god _gulp_ as Clarke approached her, green eyes widening slightly. She wasn’t like the other rich kids, Clarke decided right then, but she could still see the tell-tale signs of twitchiness in the woman that showed she was aroused, right down to the blown pupils. She would’ve been surprised if she hadn’t, Clarke knew what sort of affect she had on people.

“How about,” Lexa’s voice was slightly strained, politely declining Clarke’s advances, “we exchange numbers, and I take you on a date when you’re fully sober, how’s that sound, babygirl?”

At the term of endearment, Clarke could _feel_ herself swooning, and she fished out a napkin and pen from her bra, much to Lexa’s confusion, but the brunette quickly laughed once she saw the less than flattering renditions of people in the crowd as Clarke scratched her number onto a clean napkin.

“You drew all of these? They’re amazing.”

“You should see what else I can do with my hands,” Clarke teased, taking pride in the slight flush on Lexa’s cheeks as she handed her the napkin, “call me, ‘kay?”

“Will do,” Lexa affirmed, before Wells finally made his way back, looking equal parts confused and impressed.

“Is there a reason Finn Collins stormed out of here covered in champagne?”

“That would be me,” said Lexa, before moving to slink away, “I’ll leave her in your capable hands.” Clarke smiled as Lexa left, offering Wells no explanation, letting her best friend piece it together for himself.

“Not interested, huh, Princess.”

“Shut up, Wells.”

True to her word, Lexa does call Clarke, within the next couple of days, and once Clarke had her number saved, they almost never stop talking.

It starts slowly, with coffee dates, the two of them just getting to know each other. Clarke tells Lexa about her passion for art, speaking with wide hand motions and promising Lexa that she can do a lot more than doodle on napkins. Lexa tells her about her love for the outdoors and exercise (of course she’s a fitness buff, just look at her body), and laughs when Clarke tells her about the antics of her idiot best friends and their monthly Harry Potter marathons.

Coffee dates escalate to dinner dates and museum dates and aquarium dates, dates every day, the two of them seeing each other more than either of them ever thought upon their first meeting. Clarke fell for Lexa hard and fast, but the intimidating brunette was always there to catch her, falling just as quickly. The two of them fit like pieces of a puzzle, and were inexplicably drawn to one another. Octavia had begun rattling off a Greek tale of soulmates when Clarke tried to explain it to her roommates, and the word felt oddly right to Clarke, who usually didn’t hold much credit to such things.

Days bled into weeks which bled into months. Their relationship was a whirlwind of intense emotions and passion. Lots of the latter. It didn’t take Lexa long after she and Clarke officially started dating for the brunette to succumb to the blonde’s advances entirely willingly. She didn’t know, however, that letting Clarke have her wicked way with her, and vice versa, would leave to _too many_ explicit text messages during the middle of board meetings that left her hot and bothered, her aunt Indra scowling at her knowingly whenever her attention wandered, silently thanking board meetings for being held at a long table that could cover her discomfort until everyone left.

Clarke loved when Lexa came to her apartment after those meetings, eyes darkened, intent on punishing Clarke for teasing her so mercilessly when she could do nothing about it. Clarke never complained, happy to let Lexa worship her body, the only ones complaining were Octavia and Raven, who would scowl at the two of them in mornings because neither Clarke nor Lexa were capable of being quiet for very long.

Octavia and Raven’s protests were finally put to an end after Clarke and Lexa had been dating for seven months, when Lexa surprised Clarke with a key to her penthouse, and the two of them had made quick work of christening every surface of what was now their home.

Now, whenever Abby asked Clarke to go to social events with her, the blonde just texted her girlfriend asking her if she’d be in attendance, which she usually was. In Lexa’s company, she could leave the worn rubber band at home. True to Wells’s prediction, Abby still grumbled about what a nice boy he was, but grudgingly accepted Lexa’s role in Clarke’s life, muttering that she could’ve done worse. Lexa took that as a compliment from Abby, who had ridiculously high standards for whoever dated her daughter.

She was sure, though, that Abby wouldn’t approve of her if she was aware of the little games the two of them played when forced to attend balls. The usual making fun of people with Wells still happened, but now Clarke had a new favorite game to play, making Lexa as hot and bothered as she could until the brunette finally buckled under the desire and gave in, rushing Clarke to the nearest secluded spot to have her way with the insatiable blonde.

There was one memorable time where Clarke had finally gotten Lexa to ravish her in the fancy bathroom at a charity event raising money for the Boy Scouts of America, and someone had desperately needed the toilet, but was unable to gain entry as Lexa had no desire to stop her ministrations to Clarke’s body. The two of them felt slightly bad when they later discovered it was a young boy, who’d run outside and relieved himself in a bush, much to the horror of his parents, but were too busy being caught up in one another to feel _too_ bad about it.

Around two and a half after their first memorable meeting, Clarke found herself doing something she’d never thought, in a million years, she would ever do.

_Finn,_

_Thanks for being such an asshole that night, because now I get to spend the rest of my life with the love of my life, who I probably wouldn’t have spoken to if it weren’t for you._

 

_Xx,_

_Clarke Griffin-Woods_

**Author's Note:**

> This was fun to write. As always, kudos/comments are greatly appreciated! Come hand out on tumblr at [hedaclexa](http://www.hedaclexa.tumblr.com).
> 
> @ Jessi, look, it's real.


End file.
